Death Becomes Her
by dreamsinvisible
Summary: Right and wrong often don't seem so clear in the midst of war. Inspired by Inell's challenge, "For a good cause, wrongdoing may be virtuous" HGLM; heavy angst, character death, het.


Title: Death Becomes Her  
Rating: R for sexual situations  
Pairing: Hermione/Lucius  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just like to do evil things to them.  
Warnings: Sex, character death, lots o' angst.  
Summary: Right and wrong don't seem so clear in the midst of war. (885 words)

For Inell's Fortune Cookie Challenge. "For a good cause, wrongdoing may be virtuous"

Right. Wrong. She had been so sure of the distinction in years past; a straight and sure line separated the two, a line that seemed blurred of late. Of course, a great many things seemed blurred in the dim lights of a smoky room with the sweat tainting her eyes. She played the part of the distressed hero on a path of self-destruction without flaw; the only problem was that she wasn't sure where her acting ended and her actual self began these days.

She believes that she can do anything, detach her soul and reattach it at will, but the strings are weakened inside of her and her insides are becoming frayed. It's been a great many nights since she has been able to sleep without his embrace, without him fucking her into the mattress until her body collapses sweaty and sore, her mind finally numb enough to allow her blessed rest.

She awakes in the morning, always before him; awaking him with the sound of her lighting one of his expensive cigarettes. She'll sit up in bed, propped against the headboard with the sheets falling around her waist and her breasts exposed. He'll make some comment with that damned smug expression; some clichéd warning along the lines of 'things that are bad for her health', or 'being careful not to get burnt' as he pinches her nipples or sucks as her stomach just for the sake of leaving a mark. She takes another drag, and then watches it burn until she inevitably hears the water running in the bathroom, and she pulls on her clothes to leave.

She brings bits of information for her cause, but he's as guarded as she is and she rarely has anything to share. Her friends voice their concern for their beloved friend as she seemingly wastes away. She pushes them away farther, and refuses yet another meal in favor of his brand of cigarettes.

When she meets him one night at his request in a raunchy club, she wonders if she's still doing this for the right reasons, as she's bent over the dirty bathroom counter. His cum is dripping down her legs as he tucks himself back into his pants and she wonders if they can go to the motel now and fuck a few more times before morning as she pulls her short skirt down over her ass.

He tells her she looks like shit a few weeks later. She hasn't slept for days and can't remember the last meal that didn't involve alcohol or tobacco. She knows it's true, but she can't help but flinch as his unkind words. She shouldn't care, but she does. All she can bite out is, "Go home to your wife then. I'm sure she's as well pampered as ever", before she storms out and slams the door. She slept that night in her own bed with tears staining her face.

His apology came the next evening; the words seemed strange leaving his hurtful mouth as she disdainfully stared into his icy eyes. She begrudgingly accepted his apology when he promptly began to tongue her sex making her come at least a half a dozen times that night. It wasn't flowers or candy; but flowers die and she never liked sweets anyway.

She knew the war was coming to an end. An odd sort of current hung heavy in the air between them. After they lay sweaty and sated, he brushed her wild mane of hair out of his way and cuddled close to her neck his arms wrapped protectively around her middle. When he whispered into her ear not to be in Hogsmeade the next day she tensed briefly, but enough for him to notice. They both knew she would be there, but they also knew he cared enough to warn her. She turned in his arms and let herself be embraced for once.

The next morning as he turned to leave, she rose to meet him at the door. Her lips lingered against his, in their first unhurried kiss.

"Good-bye." She said sadly, and they both knew she didn't mean, 'see you later'. He nodded tersely before walking out, leaving the door open behind him. She watched him walk away, his silver-blonde hair brightly reflecting the fiery sunrise and left the door open as well as she apparrated from the cheap motel room.

The battle ended in ashes. All she could taste was ashes. Tears and dirt marred her face as Harry knelt by her side, arms around his friend-turned-stranger. She had no reason to hide any longer, no more reason to be ashamed. She let him gather her up in his arms and take her home. She was a hero. A dirty whore of a hero, who fell in love with the man she had to kill. They won the battle though, and she laughs when she thinks of the old adage, 'all's fair in love and war'. The war isn't nearly over though. She prepares herself to begin this all over again tomorrow. The cause is what matters. She thinks she remembers now what right and wrong should mean, but mostly she just remembers Lucius's face before she killed him and the taste of death on his lips when she told him she was sorry.

Feedback and constuctive critism always welcome and cherished. Pwease?


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